


The Heart of the Dragon

by LadyLoba (Xireyna)



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Angst, F/M, Grief, Realm Travel, Slow Burn, There might be, This will be long, dragonborn has big feels, dragonborn is not the herald, dragonborn is not the inquisitor, dragonborn is op, elven dragonborn - Freeform, female dragonborn - Freeform, have patience, mage inquisitor, not sure where i want to go with this, player character sheogorath from oblivion, the candle probably extinguishes itself because it's so slow, the dragonborn is also the protag and center of the story btw, the inquisitor is a cupcake, there may not be a relationship with the dragonborn, trevelyan inquisitor - Freeform, uncle sheogorath, undecided - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:35:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21729904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xireyna/pseuds/LadyLoba
Summary: As it turns out, being Dragonborn makes her invaluable to Nocturnal, and as such, Sovngarde unattainable. Her salvation comes in the form of a poorly-timed fall littered with cheese, an Inquisition full of people who remind her what it means to live, and a new world that needs saving.prev titled: A New Start
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford/Female Trevelyan, TBD - Relationship
Comments: 35
Kudos: 137





	1. Cheese just gets in the way

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So, I haven't written seriously in a very long time and I've barely written for Dragon Age. There will likely be Mary Sue elements as I try to get back into it. The Dragonborn IS OP as heck, but she's not going to actually use her powers often or act on her op-ness, if that makes sense. She has the power, but she's very reluctant to use it, as she always has been. I'm not sure what to do with relationship pairings yet, so feel free to give your ideas! Also, please don't be shy to give constructive criticism or call me out. I am willing to answer any questions you may have unless it's something I will reveal later in the plot. This is also unbeta'd, so please be gentle and bare with me!

Two people sit directly across from one another at a marbled table, peppered with savory meats and an incredulous amount of cheese. The room looked like it’d once been two seperate buildings that had been cleaved in half and slammed together, then haphazardly patched with whatever had been closest at the time. An elderly gentleman outfitted in an elegant purple suit sat at the head of the table, with butterflies and fireflies erratically flying near his shoulders. This side seemed to represent the pleasures in life and overindulgence. Aesthetics were key and anyone that crossed over into the northern end immediately looked like they were having the best day of their life. The food looked like something out of a magical feast, with never ending fountains of flowing chocolate and bottomless drinks.

The southern half of the room seemed to be a direct juxtaposition to the northern end, what with it being drab and gloomy. The food had rotted, with worms crawling all over the table, but the moment they’d sought to cross to the northern side, they shrivelled and died. Even the air on the southern end of the room caused the hardiest of men to catch a chill, and was heavier and harder to breathe in. Daring to look in the dark corners of the room was definitely a mistake, as shadows danced and sometimes, it felt like the darkness would stare back. Depressing thoughts would always shoot to the front of your mind and terrible situations not thought of in years made themselves known, not as an old friend, but as a worthy adversary.

A scowling woman with dark ashen skin and vivid crimson eyes sat on the southern end, glaring at the man who purposefully kept flinging pieces of cheese at her every few seconds, a bright grin on his face. A few pieces of mozzarella had gotten stuck in her raven locks, while the cheddar preferred her chestplate. 

“Can you stop?” she growled out, her knuckles a light grey color from gripping the edge of the table so hard. She’d come here with a purpose, and hadn’t gotten a single opportunity to ask her favor yet.

“Can ya not crack my table? You’re grippin’ pretty hard there, and I would hate to send my own descendant out of the tall nest and to her own death, like a wingless baby bird.” He levitates a smaller chunk of cheese in the air, and after a brief second, shoots it directly towards her eye. 

She incinerates it into ashes before it’s even got a moment to melt or hit her. But, in her attempt to stop that piece of cheese, he’d sent a spare piece of swiss at her from under the table. It gets stuck to her pants.

“Ha! Gotcha that time! You can’t even try to outdo the Mad God, child!” the man exclaims in pleasure, and he claps his hands together. The clap results in cheese assaulting her from each direction, including from the ceiling.

She roughly grabs a rotted piece of chicken from the table, careful not to get any of the maggots on her glove, and launches it in his direction, noting with annoyance that the nasty creatures died immediately and the chicken returned to its previous savory and fresh state the moment it crossed the middle of the table. It harmlessly bounced off of a barrier around the man. “I just want to die, already!”

“Well, it’s not that serious. Ya coulda just told me if the cheese bothered you that much,” he replies, but his grin doesn’t drop and it isn’t any less brighter than before, “Teenaged crisis? Boyfriend cheated on you?” he pauses for a moment, and lifts his finger in the air. A candle appears to float on top of his head. “Wait, I’ve got it! Someone shot you in the knee to steal your sweetroll, and you can’t live without it anymore, so you came to Uncle Sheo to handle it!”

Shaking with fury at his response and refusal to take her seriously, and embarrassment at her outburst, she has to force herself to take a moment to breathe. A few moments later, she opens her eyes. Her mouth sets in a line with grim determination, and she releases her grip on the marbled top one finger at a time. “I’m serious, Uncle. I came here to die. I’m tired of watching everyone around me die. It’s been three hundred years since Alduin, and I haven’t aged a day,” her fury slowly fades to terribly hidden sadness, and tears prick at the corners of her eyes. She averts her gaze, unable to meet his eyes, “I watched my husband grow old and die, and there was nothing I could do. I outlived my children and I’ll probably outlive my grandchildren at this point. I’m exhausted, and I don’t want to do it anymore. I’m tired of watching my family die.” Her voice fades to a whisper, and her shoulders slump. “I don’t know how you can do it.”

“It’s hard to take you seriously when you’re covered in cheese, lass,” he says, and she refuses to dignify his statement with a reply, her mouth setting into that firm line again. 

The elderly man sighs and with a wave of his hand, the two ends of the room swap sides. She’s suddenly covered in radiant light and the butterflies float around her head now. “It’s harder to be down when you’re surrounded by the core of Mania.” He stands up from the table, and the man frowns for the first time since she arrived. 

He turns away from her, staring into one of the dark corners of the room. “I channeled all of my pain and anything I didn’t want to think about into Dementia, and I stay in Mania for as long as I can. Sheogorath asked a lot when he had me defeat Jyggalag and take over, and I didn’t realize it until years later why he was so unhinged. It’s easier to do this job when you let the madness take you. To rule a realm… to be a Prince, and do all of the things that come with the territory.” He turns to face her, not as a Prince, but as the uncle she knew him last as, hundreds of years ago. Understanding is clear on his ashen face, and for a second she feels at home again. Uncle frowns at her, and sets his hands palm down on the table, supporting himself as he looks past her eyes, and into her soul. “I can’t kill you. I won’t kill you. I wouldn’t kill my own blood, the last one of my line who actually knows who I was before the last Graymarch, but I can send you somewhere else. Somewhere that needs you and your dragon soul. You can start over, and if you ever want to come back, you’ve but to call for me and gruyere.” 

She wipes her eyes, and looks back in his direction. She offers a weak grin. “I’d rather die and be with Vilkas and my children, but if it gets me away from my memories and the pain…”

“Then you’d do it.”

“Undeniably,” she replies, and the somber look the two share says more than any words ever could.

The old man brings up his previous illusion as the past Mad God. Inspiration seems to suddenly strike as he gets a familiar glint in his eye, one that she recognizes as a telltale sign of his inevitable meddling, and he beams at her, throwing his arms out as if he’s presenting the greatest idea on Nirn. “I know exactly what to do with you! There’s none like us where you’re going, so good luck explaining that one. Plus, they hate elves and mages with a passion. They’ll probably call you a demon and try to kill you on sight, but Nocturnal won’t be able to find you anymore! And, there’s cheese! Plenty of it! Always an upside, lass! Also, remember to shut your eyes and don’t watch the fall! Make your old elf-turned-Daedric Prince Uncle proud!”

She stands up in alarm, eyes wide as a healthy dose of anxiety courses through her veins, “Nope, nevermind, just ki-”

Before she could even finish her sentence, he’s cast the spell to teleport her, and her feet are no longer on the ground. She’s free falling, and she’s heading directly for a small village surrounded by snow. She shuts her eyes and braces for impact. Hopefully, it’ll kill her, but she doubts her Uncle would make it that easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quick note: at the end of the shivering isles dlc, the player character becomes sheogorath. the sheogorath mentioned here is that player character.


	2. The cold definitely bothered me, anyways

Her blanket kept her warm through the chilly nights in the Falkreath Hold, however rare they may have been. It was long enough to cover her head to toe, and wide enough to surround herself and both of her two children when they were still young. The inside of the blanket was lined with sabre cat fur, gathered from when she had to make passage through the Forgotten Vale many years ago. It was one of her prized possessions because it signified a time when life was simpler and happier. Despite the happy memories it caused to surface, it also reminded her of a period when she was first learning that pledging her life to serving under Daedric Princes wasn’t necessarily the best idea she’d had. 

As a young and brash adult by elven standards, she sought power and knowledge from any source that would provide it, with the justification that Alduin had to be stopped by any means necessary. Most often, this came in the form of doing tasks for shady deities to prove her loyalty to them and receive their boon, but none gave her what she thought she wanted until the curse of the Nightingale. It wasn’t until years later that she realized that her thirst for power and knowledge came not from altruism, but for primal reasons. She’d struggled with the nature of her dragon soul for a while until they’d come to a mutual understanding, but by then, it was too late to take any of her deals back. 

She couldn’t take back how each Daedric Prince, save for the few she had adamantly refused to aid, had a claim to her in the afterlife. She couldn’t she take back any of the lives she’d taken in pursuit of purpose and strength. She’d given up the title of Listener with the Night Mother’s blessing and left the Thieves’ Guild long ago, but her hands would always be stained.

Much to her surprise, she’d found her purpose and strength, but not where she’d have thought. The Companions, despite anything she’d admit, redirected her from the blighted and tenebrous path she once trod and back onto the well-tread cobblestone trail that the Divines meant for her. They even supported her when she’d chosen to walk the Way of the Voice until she’d regained stability and confidence in who she was… who she could be.

The lessons that she had been forced to learn still stung, and she had no doubt she’d carry those burdens with her until she found release, whether it be from her covenant or from her thoughts. 

The blistering chill shook her down to the marrow in her frozen bones, bumps raising on her ashen skin as her blood ran cold. She shifted onto her side and attempted to cover more of herself with the blanket, but despite her attempts, she couldn’t manage it.. Each time she tried to pull the blanket over herself, it seemed as though the blanket had been weakened, for with every time she’d reach for it, it would come to pieces in her hand.

Her body was exhausted and her mind far away, unable to truly comprehend what was happening, but she reached for her blanket a third time. When her stubborn blanket yet again refused to come and kept falling to pieces in her grasp, her sanguine eyes opened and took in the world before them. For a moment, her mind refused to process her surroundings. She lay under a starry night sky, a sky that had two moons, much like her own, but the constellations were totally different. Her own sign, the Serpent, was nowhere to be seen.

With a jarring shock, she realized where she was and remembered the events of the past day. “Shit,” she hissed under her breath, scrambling to get up. She grabbed onto a tree branch and forcefully pulled herself up, her knuckles a pale gray with how desperately she held on. Her legs were weak, and her heart and head fiercely pounded. She’d no idea how long she’d been laying in the cold. Looking down, she realized that she hadn’t had a blanket at any point, and she’d simply been covering herself with snow, as though she’d unconsciously attempted to bury herself. 

Still holding onto the branch as though her life attempted for it, she tried to regulate her breathing to calm her heart and nerves. A slow in-and-out pattern had kept her sane through the years, and she wasn’t in the habit of changing something that worked. She repeated her familiar breathing exercise, and though her body wanted to fall to the ground and give up, now that she knew the condition of her body, she couldn’t stand the thought of letting any more of the snow touch her than necessary. As is, her armor was covered in it, and that was a problem. She felt like it had seeped through to her core, and she wouldn’t be surprised if it had truly gotten into her armor and melted. Her attire wasn’t one meant for an extended stay cold weather, and it wasn’t the one she’d had on when she visited with her uncle. In truth, she wore the armor she’d not touched in years, a relic of a tattered and tumultuous past. She’d not had a purpose or major threats to defend Skyrim from since dealing with Miraak and the vampire threat, and faded into the past to raise her family, to allow younger adventurers to take the spotlight. She thought she wouldn’t be around forever to defend her home when she had her first child, and wanted to enjoy her life with her family. 

Maybe part of the reason she’d felt so lost and alone was because her dragon soul grew restless with domestic life, but outliving everyone you loved tended to change things.

In the distance was a town surrounded by walls, the very one she’d noticed and hoped wouldn’t find her when her Sheogorath-induced fall led her into this unfortunate situation. As tempting as it was to wander in and ask for supplies and a warm room, or more simply steal them, she distinctly remembered how the old meddler remarked that there were none like her in this plane. Logically, she figured that meant they’d either worship her as a god, or think she’s a curse from their own gods, and thus try to kill her. She’d have to use the little energy she had to defend herself and she’d likely die. Then, as always, she’d inevitably resurrect, her body would reluctantly knit itself back together, (and she’d tested the theory many times), and those terrible things always led to an absolutely abysmal time when you’re already exhausted.

Nobody would come out happy.

Knowing this, she cursed herself for ever getting into this situation and her uncle for landing her in a snowy hell. While it’s what she wanted, it’s not what she expected. Her kind were known for their uncanny ability to withstand fire, but she’d always been more susceptible to the cold than the rest. She’d been in the snow for Azura knows how long, and she suspected it wouldn’t be long before she had to go through her death cycle from exposure to the elements, and it wasn’t something she particularly cared to go through in this unfamiliar place, so close to a probable society.

She closed her eyes and dug deep in herself, finding the few bits of magicka that hadn’t left her when exposure and exhaustion set in, using them to set alight the end of the branch she’d been holding onto. With luck, the entire tree, though there wasn’t much of it, would come alight, giving her precious warmth. She’d let go the moment the fire began to draw too close to her hands, not daring to test her race’s resistance while in such a precarious situation. She was, however, willing to take the risk of alerting others to where she was if it meant the chill would leave her bones and she’d regain some of her lost strength.

Food and shelter would eventually be a problem, but her focus was on defrosting. She barely had control of her appendages and at this rate, she wouldn’t even be able to catch an injured mudcrab. Everything else could come later. It was easier to succumb to starvation than the cold.

It would be hard, but she was the Dragonborn. She’d faced much worse conditions while she could die. She’d stopped Alduin, a vampire lord, and a crazy mask-wearing Nord (which, could have been her had she kept on her path). She had but to bide her time and wait until the purpose for her being here was revealed, even if it meant her hanging off of a tree branch until the fire got too close or until she was warm enough to move.

Then, she would hunt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! we're slowly making progress through this fic. as always, please let me know your thoughts. I am open to any questions and will answer them as long as it doesn't give away anything and all constructive criticism.  
> This is a short chapter, but they should get longer.


	3. Being a tree elf isn't really my style

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Dragonborn meets a kindred soul and an army comes.

Eighty-nine tally marks scarred the oaken surface of a tree, representative of each night she’d been in this new realm. The days moved by sluggishly, much slower than the days in Skyrim had been, and her body and mind had difficulties adapting to the new time. She’d wake up when it was still night-time and would force herself to stay awake. A healthy dose of paranoia kept her believing that it was better to wake at night and be confused than to be caught off guard in the morning when one had ashen, corpse-like skin and blazing sanguine eyes.

Of all the time spent in this foreign world, the first night was by far the hardest. The cold still burrowed into her bones, but she’d not had such an incident again. The woman had been able to fashion a small shelter made from the fur gathered from the animals she had hunted. It kept her warm and hidden from sight. She hadn’t taken much from the land, not wanting to deprive the locals of sustenance, especially in the recent weeks. Though she no longer followed the Way of the Voice, its teachings still served her well. She could survive on little and chose to do so. Nobody asked her to be here, and she didn’t want to be the reason any children starved. She’d seen enough of that in Skyrim.

The first twenty-nine days were quiet and peaceful. She hadn’t grown content, but she’d started to become comfortable and considered slipping into the village to scout. Then, on the night of the thirtieth day, the sky exploded into a haze of green. It looked like a massive portal had been ripped open in the heavens, and she couldn’t help but wonder if Sheogorath played some part in this.

Thinking again though, the lack of cheese and dogs falling from the sky implied no Mad-God presence.

On the thirty-first day, the population in the village spiked as soldiers began to flood in, and a peculiar human with a palm as green as the sky was brought in as both a patient and a prisoner. A bald man with ears like hers played nurse to the unconscious human, though the unfortunate individual stayed in chains.

She hadn’t dared to approach the village, but had instead watched from afar. A younger and bolder Dovahkiin would have immediately dashed to the green portal to offer her help and slay any enemies that may have come out, but her uncle’s words rang through her mind, a mantra.

_ There are none like you. _

Getting caught in a death loop, having to slaughter everyone, or becoming imprisoned before she’d had a chance to find her purpose here wasn’t something she wanted to partake in, whether accidental or intentional. After all, she tended to be more of a pacifist in actions nowadays. Power, unwanted or wanted, came with responsibilities.

Soon, the woman woke up. She woke up on day that the portal had been more active than usual, and odd creatures roamed the land. One had even come across the ashen-skinned elf, and she’d been forced to eliminate the poor soul. The creature looked like a shrivelled rat dressed in a black robe, with large extremities. It had tried to touch her mind, to take it and feed off of her despair. In other cases, she would have sought to help rehabilitate it, but it took her by surprise, and in this world, she couldn’t take the risk. She’d have tried to find a way to help it feel peace, much as she’d done in Skyrim while following the Way. 

She’d once been a monster and changed.

She’d watched as the warrior with short dark hair escorted the green-handed blonde to the broken temple, their efforts at closing the portal futile, but the morale of the troops never once wavered. It made sense, but it was surprising to see so clearly in other lands when hers had been so devastated when Alduin returned. 

Past that, once it seemed that the high council, consisting of the stealthy red-head, the flustered lion man, and the grumpy dark-haired warrior, actually trusted the green-handed woman, she would leave for weeks on end under the banner of the rag-tag army. She’d came and gone many times, each time returning with something beneficial to the army.

She’d once been an errand girl disguised as figurehead, too. The most simple of tasks, and yet, they always fell to her. It looked good for the guilds and the Imperials to have her, so they had her do it all. She’d done it happily in her search for power for years, decades even, and it wasn’t until him that she’d realized how much of a puppet she had been. She had gained power, but at what cost?

She couldn’t bring herself to feel bad for the green-handed blonde.

On the seventy-fifth day, the woman returned with a horde of exhausted magic users wielding staves. She thought it curious that they all used one, but this land held many secrets. Unsurprisingly, the mages were to join the gathered army in order to help shut the sky-portal. It wasn’t until their arrival that dissent rose in the ranks. It was clear that her uncle spoke true. Mages were not favored.

On the eighty-eighth night, the woman with the green hand closed the sky portal. From what she could see, the mark-bearer had sapped the energy from all of the mages around her and had used the stolen energy to overpower the sky portal, sealing it shut. Almost every mage had collapsed after the fact, and despite her want to follow the Way of the Voice and rush to the aid of the fallen mages, she stayed to the shadows and the treetops, never getting close enough to reveal herself. She knew the redhead had scouts everywhere, and despite her having the ability to avoid them easily, she didn’t care to use it, preferring to stick to traditional styles of evasion. She didn’t want Nocturnal to know where she was and have the satisfaction of knowing she still relied on the abilities that she’d been cursed with.

Needless to say, she didn’t stick around after the sky-portal shut. Instead, she’d caught a rabbit on her way back to her shelter as her own way of celebrating along with the seemingly victorious group. She kept to the trees and used her fire magic to roast the rabbit so that a campfire wouldn’t alert anyone to her position. Hood blocking her face or not, she wasn’t really willing to take the risk, and the scouts combed the forest more than ever in recent days. Despite the closing of the portal and the fact that most forces were celebrating, she doubted that the redhead would pull everyone out. Paranoia disguised as vigilance served her well. 

Suddenly, the feeling of dread filled her stomach and tied it in knots. Her skin erupted in bumps and her hair stood up. Something was happening. Abandoning the precious remains of her food, she scrambled up the marked tree to examine her surroundings. Once she’d reached the top, she perched herself on a stable limb and began to scan the horizon.

A horde of abominations marched down the mountain, red crystals coming out of orifices and growing from body parts that crystals should never grow from. A dragon, the same crystals ravaging its once majestic scales, flew over the army, its foul breath helping cut a more traversable path through the trees to aid the troops. The air grew heavy and despair dug its way under her skin.

It was like the horde of abominations shoved a hand into her chest and ripped out her heart, and with it all of her hopes and her will. 

Then, the dragon roared, no… screamed. Then, a hand lightly brushed her shoulder. “Hurting. Confused. Red. Red and bleak and pain. She needs help. Raging, roaring, screaming. No more, let me out. Set me free. You can help her, but only if you help everyone.”

The elf almost fell out of the tree she had been climbing. “What the fuck?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year everyone! I'm glad you are still with me. I cherish every one of you readers SO MUCH! Truly, you all keep me going. As always, please feel free to comment and tell me what you thought, and leave kudos if you enjoyed our story thus far.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi, this chapter is very short.

The elf considered herself to be a stealthy individual. Years of unscrupulous activity in the criminal underground of Skyrim fostered the development of a certain set of skills, which included both perception and the ability to remain hidden, be it in whichever way necessary. That’s not to say that she claimed the title of being the best in the land anymore, but she was very good at what she did. 

Yet, somehow someone had managed to sneak up on her. They hadn’t made a single sound and her intuition hadn’t warned her of anything coming that was out of the ordinary. It was… surprising. 

The very target of her shock was perched on the same branch as her. A young looking human wearing a floppy brimmed hat had been the first one to sneak up on her in a very long time. However, she couldn’t help but notice that something was off about the individual before her, as if he wasn’t quite tangible or that he was something simply masquerading as a human. Whatever it was, it still didn’t cause her to feel threatened. If anything, she felt at ease, as if the person before her was subtly coaxing the feel of a cozy Skyrim tavern to the front of her mind.

“Who are you and how did you manage to sneak up on me?” she asks, but doesn’t make a move for her weapon. It seems like he doesn’t want to harm her and if he had, he’d have shoved one of his knives in her throat before announcing himself in the peculiar manner he had. It wouldn’t have done him any good, but it would have dealt a stunning blow to her pride.

It served as a subtle reminder that there was always someone better than you, and she couldn’t help but allow a small smirk to crook her lips.

“I’m Cole. You have to help.” He’s adamant with his words, like he’s demanding it of her but in such a way that it’s a suggestion, like it’s already something that’s been decided long before she’d ever been here, before she’d ever gasped her first breath as a newborn babe.

“Why?” she asks, the question simple and innocent.

The enigma offers no answer, but instead stares into her eyes, and for a moment, she swears that he’s looking into her soul. It reminds her of a less malignant Mora. Potentially all-knowing, but not insufferable.

She doesn’t ask any more questions. “Alright,” the small elf replies, “I believe you. You have any ideas for how I’m going to help?”

He’s silent, but his gaze doesn’t waver.

“Do they even know of me?” More silence. Her face falls. “Of you? Have you spoken to them, ever? Graced them with your presence?” Her words are hard, but her tone is soft. She doesn’t want to make the wrong move here.

He doesn’t reply, and she scrunches her face in frustration, “This will be difficult.”

“Red. Lyrium sings, but it’s twisted. The words don’t make sense, and it hurts. I don’t understand, I don’t want to feel this. She needs your help. They need your help,” he says, and she’s beginning to wonder if his cryptic messages are even his own. 

“I don’t know them. They don’t know me. Why is it my responsibility to aid a world I know nothing of? A world who may shun me?”

He says nothing for a moment, tension growing in the air. “Release,” he simply replies, and suddenly everything is clear to her, and understanding dawns on her like a new day. “We have to go!”

“Alright. Lead the way, mysterious one. I will play the dashing savior once more, but let me be clear. I’m doing this for the dragon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I caught a terrible case of writer's block, combined with school. There's been a lot of stress lately. This chapter isn't really quality, so my apologies, but I hope it is enjoyed nevertheless. (:


	5. Chapter 5

There was once a woman with eyes as red as a blood moon and skin as deep as the night sky who discovered great success in her quest to defeat an eater of worlds, but who strayed from the path of righteousness and fell headfirst into the world of power and greed. Like a moth to a flame, she flocked towards anything that could have given her the edge she so desperately craved. It was like she had tightly grasped the bladed end of a sword for so long that she forgot about the pain it caused her until she released it. Now, bitter regret burned through her soul like a neglected, pestilent wound raged at its host.

_ “Look at me, and feel what you’ve done,”  _ it demanded, “ _ Are you pleased with the seeds you’ve sown?” _

Traveling with the mysterious being towards what may be either a grand mistake or a step towards a path lined with redemption and seeing her family again caused these same feelings to ferociously bubble in her stomach like a failed alchemy potion. 

Despite this, she knew a few things to undoubtedly be true. One; the being in front of her was not human, but did not mean ill. Two; she was here for a reason, and helping that dragon might be what it would take to set her free from the clutches of the daedric princes. Three; nobody here looked like her, according to what she was told many moons ago by her uncle. Finally; if this went badly, she might lose her chance to find her purpose here.

All of these things meant that she would have to be on her best behavior, and probably hide her face. And ears. And probably also vouch that Cole was kind, which would likely lead to both of them being distrusted to a greater extent, so maybe that wasn’t a great call. This situation was decidedly not ideal in the slightest. 

Regardless, she followed the being as he leaped over fallen tree limbs, taking a seemingly erratic pattern to the fortress. He bobbed and weaved under branches, adamantly refusing a straight path, likely to avoid leaving an easily trackable path. She didn't know the capabilities of the demonic soldiers or the infested dragon yet, and taking care to avoid doing more damage to her potential ally was important. 

Before long, she found herself in front of a massive gate leading into the fortress she had been dreading approaching. The boy ran up to the gate, furiously banging on it. She advanced behind him, but tugged her hood down lower than usual to mask her features in the shroud of darkness. While she did have on her armor that the Mad God saw fit to deposit by her campsite, she chose to kept herself hidden by a dull brown robe. The thin armor didn't show through, and her face mask kept what parts of her face that her hood did not cover hidden.

"I can't come in unless you open!" the not-quite-boy cries, and at the same time, she hears an animalistic growl sound from somewhere behind her. Before she is able to spin around to determine if it is a threat and handle it, the being has disappeared from where he was banging on the door. It shocks her for a brief moment, such blatant teleportation, but it isn't the first time she has witnessed something similar.

Right as the gates burst open, the elf quickly turns on her heel to examine what's going on behind her only to see a hulking human with red crystals sticking out of its body collapse to the ground, Cole's twin daggers jammed between its shoulderblades.

People rush out of the gate with weapons drawn, but stop short of her and Cole, and while she knows she should spin on her heel again and gauge the situation, she can't manage to rip her sight away from the body before her. She's seen and dealt her fair share of death, but this is an abomination and its in her face. Seeing one up close is nothing compared to having seen them on the mountain pass. 

Upon closer inspection, she sees that what is in front of her is no longer human. The poor wretch's pupils were blown out, specks of red crystal embedded within the whites of its eyes. The color had left its irises, replaced with a bright, yet chipped, crystal ring that stabbed into its pupils. Large crystals jutted out of its spine and other such body parts that did not ever ask to have a crystal there. Its veins were black, its blood rancid and sluggish. As the blood left its body, it began to crystallize. The sight was terrifying.

The creature in front of her could no longer be called human and the very nature of what was in front of her caused her honed senses to go haywire. This was unnatural, and everything screamed at her to run before the sickening siren song of the crystal became irresistible. 

"What is that?" she questions in regard to the corrupted crimson crystals, her brow furrowed beneath her hood, "Is that why…?" 

They ignore her, and Cole barrels to her side. "There are people coming to hurt you! The Templars are coming to kill you. They went to the Elder One. You took his mages… he wants them back. He wants to hurt. He wants to kill."

Then, all at once, everything went completely and totally to shit. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this is to everyone's satisfaction and that you are all staying safe. We are finally getting to some action, so I think updates should be quicker as material will finally become interesting. I may consolidate earlier chapters together to form a more cohesive story, but unsure of that yet   
> In any case, I hope everyone enjoyed. Stick with me. It'll get more interesting (:


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies if this seems like a lazy chapter. I just couldn't make myself write out the siege scene (where you save everyone in the town and what not). That said, assume everything happened like game canon. Our lovely Greenhand did save the townspeople as in game, so when our elf does her "work", this involves saving those in her immediate vicinity and reinforcing buildings, while staying hidden. I regret not writing it, but I've been sitting on this chapter so long that I just /had/ to get it out.
> 
> I understand that this is one of my weaker chapters, so I ask that you please stick with me past this. It will get better! Soon, we'll have actual interaction and maybe our Dovahkiin will boil the annoying egghead.
> 
> Coughs.
> 
> Did I say that?

War was not a foreign concept to the dark-skinned elf. She’d fought many wars, both fighting on the side of those who crushed their foes with overwhelming power but also the side of those hopelessly outmatched, destined to fail. Those battles proved to her that destiny was not all. Regardless, an undeniable feeling of dread sank into her core at the sight before her.

The blonde woman with the green-hand seemed lost. From the elf’s perspective, the woman completely relied on advice from her lion man. She seemed young and naive, one trained to fight but unsure of how to act when civilians became involved. Moving on, the warrior with short dark brown hair seemed like she was barely remaining herself, hanging on to her very last shred of composure. It was clear to the elf she’d been through a lot or that this battle signified a harsh turning point in her life or in regards to her beliefs. As for the lion man, he became the spitting image of a perfect military commander, and the elf's lips fiercely downturned into a scowl.

She had enough of military commanders after the Imperials.

Cole laid a hand on her shoulder, "We are here. It is enough."

"Enough for what?" she asks, slightly tilting her head in the direction of the being next to her.

"She'll live. Not everyone will, but she will," he replies in that ethereal voice of his, and when she turns to look at him, he’s gone.

She sighs in resignation. It’s clear that she’s on her own and now she needs to find a way to help these people without drawing attention to herself. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be an issue with the ongoing siege. Every single guard worth their salt was on high alert and would be watching for hidden individuals within their town. So, she tugs her hood farther down her face and adjusts her strides to match those surrounding her.

The dark-skinned elf slips past the initial guards and into the fortress itself, but a large hand grabs her shoulder as she heads towards the town, gently tugging her to face the owner of said hand. Panic and annoyance shoot through her system at the idea that she may have been discovered so soon, but she slams down her initial violent reaction and allows the hand to handle her. it's possible she’s being mistaken for someone else, and she doesn’t want to cause conflict and paint herself as the enemy already. 

“Go to the chapel, mage,” the human in front of her says and she stiffens, she’s possibly being found out and this would be a disaster - “Everyone is gathering there. They need some of the mages to project a barrier over it.” The elf inclines her head and heads in the other direction, releasing a small sigh of relief as she goes. She slips into the panicked crowd easily, allowing herself to be pulled with their movements. Their fear is tangible, wafting off of the civilians in sick purple tendrils. It suffocates her, lazily drifting into her throat and nostrils, burrowing deep into her lungs. They rush towards a large building with flags decorating it, like a herd of stampeding mammoths.

She figures that the building they’re all heading to is the chapel, but breaks off from the mob at the last moment. She slips into the shadows behind a small hut, realizing that she is entirely unwilling to see if her magical signature matches that of the other mages. It would be a terrible fate for her to be discovered during a battle as someone who did not match. She has to stop herself from frowning because the logical explanation would be that she was a spy, and the truth is so far from that.

Then, the sky explodes with fire. 

Flaming arrows drop from the sky, igniting everything they come in contact with. “Feim zii gron,” she whispers in the dragon tongue, willing herself to become ethereal so that the arrows don't set her robes and hood ablaze. Screams pierce the chilled air and though she knows she should help, she isn't willing to risk her cover. Not yet, not until the rapid fire arrows slow their pace. After all, in her ethereal form, arrows completely pass through her as if she were a ghost. That might distress the locals.

It feels like hours before the arrows abate and she's able to relinquish her power over the shout. Her reprieve comes after an earth-shattering scream from the dragon, and her only assumption is that the lion commander and his green-handed scapegoat have managed to fire the trebuchets at the archers, stopping their fiery attack.

She leaps into action. There are many bodies, but the bodies won’t benefit from her help right now. She has learned to ignore the screams, but today, she is following them. Cole asked her to come, and so she has. Her duty is to help the living, and even Cole said they wouldn’t all survive. Her salvation is dependent on her fulfilling her duty, but perhaps that's wishful thinking.

She heads in the direction of the nearest scream and with a heavy breath, begins her relentless work.

  
  


* * *

Hours later, she finds herself in the snow. The entirety of Haven’s survivors minus Greenhand had escaped from the town, fleeing the carnage that lay behind them. She felt their emotions clearly. Their intense emotions cut through her worse than the stinging cold bit into her bones and each one served as a beacon for all manner of disturbing forces to take note. 

She hangs back from the pack, watching their sadness roll off of them in bitter waves. She forced herself to feel their pain, to share in their loss. It feels wrong to be here, a foreign invader witnessing these people at what could be their most vulnerable. It’s true that her uncle had sent her here for a reason, but this felt… private. These people were not her people.

For a moment, she considered leaving. Perhaps this is all that she was meant to do, and now that it’s done, she could take her leave until the next time she was needed. She’d managed to stay under the radar as she’d helped those she could, but a robed figure kept glancing at her every so often. She could feel his magical signature from where she stood, and she wondered if he could feel hers as well.

The elf makes a sudden decision. She pauses in her tracks and turns to her right, meaning to head in that direction and away from the villagers. She goes to take a step, but is met with an invisible wall. She sighs.

”She needs you. You should stay,” Cole pleads, “She’s coming. Cold, frozen, alone. You need to help her make the journey.”

“I’m so tired of being needed,” she whispers back, but her plea falls on deaf ears. He’s already gone. She clenches her fist and squeezes her eyes shut, but hangs back. Cole hasn’t been wrong yet and the not-boy seems to have a decent sense of what is meant to happen. 

So, she stops walking with the group and she waits. She waits for the Greenhand who stayed behind to provide a distraction to prove she’s alive. She waits, thankful that she isn’t the hero anymore, but tired that she has a role to play. She waits, even when it seems the girl will never appear and even when the cold tears into her old bones. She waits, and when the green-handed blonde shows, the elf is there.

Greenhand suddenly appears when the snowstorm clears, and the elf feels a pang of panic. When Cole told her to wait for the girl, she thought the girl would be in much better shape, else Cole would have stayed as well. The elf trudges through the snow, trying to get to the girl as soon as she reasonably could.

She picks the girl up, cradling her in her arms. Much to the elf’s alarm, the girl is surprisingly light. Greenhand weakly fights the stranger picking her up, but the stranger simply smacks her hands away and adjusts how the blonde lays in her arms.

"Who are you?" the blonde weakly questions. She’s clearly exhausted, as expected. Greenhand has been crawling through the snow in this sorry state, clutching her side in an attempt to stop from bleeding everywhere. Despite this, her lifeflow turns the pure snow as red as the elf’s eyes.

Her piercing crimson gaze looks down on the green-handed girl before her, her face grim as she finally announces herself. The world shudders, finally recognizing her presence, "They call me Dovahkiin Lyleth, but I’m partial to just Lyleth. You have a job to do, little one, and I’m not being responsible for it if you cannot handle your own duties. You’re not allowed to die.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for giving me a try, and I hope you all stick with me on our path!


End file.
